


angry people.

by teethrotter



Category: Hellsing
Genre: Arrogance, Gen, Headcanon, Master/Slave, Monologue, Pre-Canon, The Convention of Twelve, Young Integra Hellsing, i will always be horrible at tags, implied at least - Freeform, inferences are made, not in a kinky/shippy way bc that shit's nasty in this context
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-10-04 09:37:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20468918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teethrotter/pseuds/teethrotter
Summary: At the tender age of twelve, Integra was knighted. Consequently, her life became one of appearances; she's never been one for dresses.





	angry people.

**Author's Note:**

> this is just a silly little idea i had to write. things are probably loose as far as canon goes, since this is mostly a stress relief fic :)

The subject of clothing had never been particularly enticing to Integra.

Perhaps it was due to the total dominance of men in her life, but she simply didn’t bother to invest her valuable time into fashion when there were always far more pressing matters at hand. There was no question as to the weight of what she would one day inherit, after all: the whole of the Hellsing Organization. Acquiring the necessary skills to efficiently head the Royal Order of Protestant Knights made any fixation on mere clothing completely laughable.

Under Arthur’s orders, Walter would sporadically have Integra’s wardrobe custom tailored, typically only when she would outgrow her current outfits or when an upcoming event called for something customized. Really, it was unlikely that she’d ever spared a shred of thought to such trivial things, her education prioritized to the utmost degree; and that was that.

Her father’s death, as it were, seemed to dig its tendrils deep into every aspect of her life.

With Arthur’s passing, Richard’s attempt at parricide, Integra’s successful act of avunculicide, and her subsequent knighting, Integra constantly found herself concerned with matters that she had never before conceived. Clothing was one such matter.

Now, it was no longer acceptable for her to dress without a second thought; every appearance, every article of clothing, had a purpose. As such, Walter unquestioningly guided her into England’s elite fashion storefronts, apparently playing the role of an insignificant chauffer and bodyguard, though he and Integra both nonverbally acknowledged his instrumentality. Frankly, without his guidance, she was utterly useless. Her concept of ‘fashion’ was a black three-piece suit.

Upon entering, she _did_ spare the line of refined dresses a cursory glance, truly. When she didn’t bother to touch one, instead starting toward the display of dark blazers and slacks, Walter dutifully followed without comment. It was the most natural thing in the world.

Integra ultimately settled on an unembellished navy blue ensemble, complete with brown shoes and a white shirt. It was hastily custom-fitted and fussed over, matching blue cravat laced through the shirt’s collar. Last came the glint of the silver cross over her clavicles. Walter pinned the sections that required tailoring into place and assured her that he would have it finished and presentable within the week.

Never one to backpedal, Walter fitted his master into the piece the next Thursday. It was sleek, pinched just enough to portray the early lankiness of Integra’s figure without dwarfing her. As she genuinely studied herself in the mirror, Integra deemed her presence powerful, commanding. Soon, she would be pitching herself into a world composed solely of older men who would deem her nothing at all. She was not only to prove them wrong but to _crush_ them to obey her will. Her father alone would not be enough to convince them otherwise, nor did she wish for it to be so. One way or another, she would extract the respect afforded to the title of Bureau Director. The suit was the first step among many.

Placated by her satisfaction, Walter had departed. As taking the time to observe herself was such a rarity, Integra scarcely noticed. She was still fixated on the full-length mirror when the whistle came, low and to her right.

She whirls about, new but necessary reflexes goading her hand to fly to her concealed holster. Panic momentarily grips her as she registers its absence, given that the outfit is entirely new. The alarm fades into a feeling more sickly once she recognizes the intrusion.

“Navy, Count? I’ve yet to see any Hellsing in such a color.”

Alucard’s lips split into a grin, nefarious and disturbing. Shadows dance about his form, making him ephemeral even in the consistent light of the room. Integra’s eyes switch to the window and she glimpses the washed, warm primaries of sunset.

His eyes have not left her since his materialization. They are the only solid thing about him, glaringly red and hooded but not lecherous. Her spine stiffens as her shoulders relax.

“Alucard.” Her acknowledgement is curt, terse, short.

“My apologies for my intrusion.” His words are languidly purred, the thrum of his voice deep below his sternum. It is everywhere but simultaneously nowhere. Integra’s skin inadvertently crawls.

“Walter so resembled a prideful, strutting duck, I wouldn’t be able to stand the anticipation if I hadn’t come to see what could have possibly put him in such a mood.”

He advances recklessly, but secures a respectful distance, stooping so as to eye her better. Integra releases a breath from her chest that she hadn’t noted the presence of. His hair nearly sweeps the floor.

“A fine piece of handiwork, indeed. As expected of someone of Walter’s caliber.” Alucard chuckles, as if entertained by some inside joke Integra herself knows nothing of.

Integra does not feel fear. She may not yet be familiar with Alucard or his mannerisms, but his dedication to her immediately upon his reawakening assures her that he is pathetically harmless. It is simple unease that grips her joints. Unease at his incomplete state of being. Unease at his current proximity to her despite his conscious or unconscious distance. Unease at his watchful, lazy stare. She intentionally remains silent.

Seemingly prodded along by her nonresponse, Alucard returns to his full height. “I know of the men you will soon be involved with. I’ve spent many of my years alongside humans; generally, they are mostly benign, intriguing creatures. I’ve scarcely interacted with these men, so perhaps it is not my place to pass judgment. But they hold their positions of power through genetics alone. They will dress similarly to you, if not entirely identical, but you will not be their equal. They will yearn for any reason to desecrate and demote you. Your age, your gender, the color of your skin… They will resent you and the degree of power you hold. You will be perhaps more powerful than any one of them, and they will know. They will be jealous. They will seek any tangible reason to discredit you and gain a bit of your power for themselves. If provided with any opportunity, they will strive for your destruction. You must not waver in their presence, not even for a moment.”

Integra does not flinch. Her words are determined, icy. “I know all of this already. I’m in no need of your lecture, beast. You are far more sheltered than I and yet you still know these truths. These men will not phase me.”

Alucard blinks, then decidedly croons. “Of course, my little master. Please forgive my insolence. I intended no offense. Never before has any Hellsing been made to face such ugly things as this.”

Integra sets her shoulders. Her eyes bore holes into nothing. “You’ve hardly been assigned the role of an advisor.”

“I do hope that I haven’t offended you.”

“No.” Integra finally steps away from the mirror, boldly facing Alucard despite his enormous height.

Even as she tips her head to meet his gaze, her resolution is clear. “I also only have my position based on genetics. Is that so heinous a thought? I do not need my father’s influence to sway these men to obey me. I do not need the significance of the Hellsing Organization backing me. I don’t even need the looming threat of your status as a trump card. It will be because of my actions that these men submit to me. I will show them what it truly means to hold the title of Bureau Director under the Royal Order of Protestant Knights.”

Alucard’s grin is so wide that Integra assumes his noncorporeal face will divide in two. “Yes, my little master. I’ve no doubt you will. That is what it means to be Hellsing’s heir, after all.”

“Then remember that sentiment well. Also, start using doors properly. Unlike you, I have no way to detect unnatural things lurking just under my nose.”

“Of course, Count.”

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading this capricious little thing of mine ! as of the time of writing, i'm falling sick, so any glaring errors are most likely a result of that :') certainly not my best work but i've nothing more to do with it
> 
> https://teethrotter.tumblr.com/


End file.
